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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148781">Say You Love Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpeyes/pseuds/pumpkinpeyes'>pumpkinpeyes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Dysphoria, Closeted Eddie Kaspbrak, Coming Out, Divorce, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, M/M, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Multi, Perceived Unrequited Love, Period-Typical Homophobia, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier-centric, Trans Male Richie Tozier, Trans Richie Tozier, Unreliable Narrator, but like, immediately curved, like it's mentioned but there isn't any interaction, so i said slow burn but i lied, some bc I don't want to dwell too much on it for my own emotionally well-being, stan is dead im sorry to do our boy like that, supportive friends, the story has been changed to fit but the general plot is still there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:42:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpeyes/pseuds/pumpkinpeyes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Things come back to Richie all at once. Those muddled and grey, faded memories that he thought he’d repressed for his tenuous mental health all come rushing back and there is an uncomfortable, jarring moment where he remembers what it was like going by that name; where he remembers being that girl. He remembers being bullied for everything and anything. Hair too short, weird and gangly body, the formless Hawaiian-print shirts and jumping into the cool water at the Quarry with an over-large shirt hanging off his shoulders and gripped tight in his hands to keep it from riding up too far on his way down.</p><p>And Eddie. Richie realizes with a start that he’s been alone all these years because these are his friends, his people, his Losers. That he hadn’t felt love stir once in his heart because Eddie was out there somewhere, forgotten, somehow in a way that feels like the biggest cheat in the history of the world because Richie Loves him with a capital ‘L’ and has since he first met the shorter ball of fire and anger and biting wit. It’s like waking up for the first time, clear-headed and overwhelmingly bright. </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh/Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough &amp; Mike Hanlon &amp; Ben Hanscom &amp; Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Beverly Marsh &amp; Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Richie's deadname is used in the beginning, like once, but it isn't used again. please consider your own emotional well-being for themes associated with a trans character as well as suicide (Stan's). If you have any questions or concerns pls feel free to comment.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richie was home in his apartment, hunched over scraps of paper with his own joke ideas when he gets the call. The makeup girl, Kati, that has been travelling with him to his shows had spent several nights at his place in the past to avoid having to take a Red Eye Flight (or just because she was bored) and had bedazzled his phone with black, glinting plastic and tiny, glittering gold sticker letters to spell out ‘Trashmouth’. This was incredibly funny to her and she was very proud of herself. He knows he made a big stink about it, but something about having the influence of even just one other person in his house was nice. Richie didn’t have friends. There was no love. There was this great big emptiness that he can’t remember ever being anything but foggy and blurred in his memory and he hasn’t felt whole for longer than anyone should have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to grab his phone and stares blankly at the thing. Richie still doesn’t have Caller ID and it is the biggest current inconvenience because he can’t handle another hopeful flutter in his heart just for it to be some telemarketer. Yes, he’s happy with his cable package. No, he isn’t interested in a vacuum. Yes, he’s sure, all he has is hardwood anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could smoke.” He murmurs to himself, phone trilling, hand poised over the receiver, fighting with himself. His chest thrums with some distant and phantom pain and he frowns at the phone like it is the cause. Sighing, he picks up the whole phone and pulls it as far across the room to the sliding glass doors leading out to his deck, snatched his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and picks up the phone, stretching the cord through the door, lights a smoke, and sighs out his first drag, “Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel?” The tinny voice asks, tentative and Richie’s hand stills halfway to his mouth. He’s gobsmacked, feeling faintly like he’s been punched in the stomach, and freezes. It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span> since he’s heard this name. Well-over two decades at least. No-one who knows him now has known him by anything other than ‘Richie’. He hasn’t even gotten mail for that name since moving out here. It feels so foreign and jarring and suddenly he’s angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck is this?” Richie demands. This has to be some sort of joke and it is sending his heart into overdrive. Has someone outed him? Did some asshole on the internet do some impressive digging and ring him up just to say, ‘I know and I will tell everyone’?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man on the other end clears his throat and half-laughs, “Uh, Mike? Mike Hanlon - from Derry? Is Rachel there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things come back to Richie all at once. Those muddled and grey, faded memories that he thought he’d repressed for his tenuous mental health all come rushing back and there is an uncomfortable, jarring moment where he remembers what it was like going by that name; where he remembers being that girl. He remembers being bullied for everything and anything. Hair too short, weird and gangly body, the formless Hawaiian-print shirts and jumping into the cool water at the Quarry with an over-large shirt hanging off his shoulders and gripped tight in his hands to keep it from riding up too far on his way down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, It rears its ugly head in his memory. All teeth and tendrils of thick drool, laughing with flashing eyes and bloodied ruffles. He remembers Bill, sweet Bill who had taken the death of his brother so hard that Richie had worried they’d all lose him for good. Stan, who was stronger than Richie has ever felt and Ben whose romantic, poetic soul had made “Trashmouth” Tozier believe in True Love. Bev, who Richie loved but was everything he didn’t want to be. Mike, who, in his endless kindness, beat anyone who touched him without permission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eddie. Richie realizes with a start that he’s been alone all these years because these are his friends, his people, his Losers. That he hadn’t felt love stir once in his heart because Eddie was out there somewhere, forgotten, somehow in a way that feels like the biggest cheat in the history of the world because Richie Loves him with a capital ‘L’ and has since he first met the shorter ball of fire and anger and biting wit. It’s like waking up for the first time, clear-headed and overwhelmingly bright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a long drag, hands shaking and clears his own throat, “Mike,” he rasps, “uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How is he supposed to say this? Richie’s voice has deepened since he started T, his face angular, his chest flat and scarred, a silicone packer in his pants, and his lanky, long body graciously all lines with curves only where muscle dipped. He hasn’t had to correct anyone in years. He hasn’t had to utter the, ‘Uh, actually’. And he’d forgotten them all, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span> all. But now they were back and he realized that he’d managed to skip this part. Coming out to people that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes another drag and Mike waits, patient, “Mike, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>...me,” he can’t even say the name - he </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “It’s Richie, now. Richard Tozier. Trashmouth, that’s me. Still annoying. Still have shitty jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You.” Mike says it and Richie imagines that it was meant as a question but is more like a statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me.” Richie laughs weakly, taking another drag, realizing he’s broken out into a sweat. “Is there, um, a reason for the social call? Don’t get me wrong, the blast from the past is definitely a life-changer and the highlight of my week but I can’t imagine what I could do for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can’t imagine that any of you would want anything to do with me now.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Goes unsaid but plays throughout Richie’s head on repeat like some sort of fucked, skipping track.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike is silent for a moment and his voice takes on That Tone, the one that meant Serious Business, “It’s back, Richie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says his name like it’s the only name Richie has ever had and the tears that spring to his eyes he blames on the cigarette smoke. The gravity of the situation takes a moment to settle across his broad shoulders, he’s so relieved, that it feels like another punch to the gut. He knows what Mike means. He suddenly can feel a sting in his hand and a scar that he can’t believe he never remembered shines out, white and banded, on the palm of his hand and he swears it feels like a fresh cut. Like their promise, their pact, happened </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesterday.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you called everyone else?” Richie finds himself asking. He’s nervous. He knows he has to go and it makes him nauseous, so sick that he stabs out the remains of his smoke and sits down hard on his creaking, wicker porch furniture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike sighs like he’s bone-tired, like he’s been worked to the bone for years, and he can hear Mike moving around in the background, “I’ve called everyone else. You’re the last. Should I…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie knows the question he’s asking. He knows that Mike, small-town Mike with a big heart and protective streak, is asking if Richie wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say anything. For a moment, it seems to be the most attractive possible thing. Letting Mike tell everyone, say everything, make the explanation and deal with each individual response as a third-party. Someone else to hear the awkward silence. Someone else to answer the stupid questions. Someone else that doesn’t have to feel their collective rejection like a physical blow. Richie hasn’t wanted anything more at this moment than to have not answered the phone at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, he feels bad. Because these are his friends, the people he loves. He remembers carving into that bridge. He remembers the sleepovers, the clubhouse, the house on Neibolt, the bike rides and the movies and the summers trudging through the Barrens. Richie remembers the feel of Eddie’s soft cheeks pinched between his fingers, the secret bond with Bev that bloomed in the basement bathroom of the High School - passing pads underneath the stalls to one-another - and the feel of sharing a cigarette with someone wearing pink lipstick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Richie gulps and shakes his head. “No. I’ll just...I mean, where are we meeting up? I can just show up and, uh, make it a surprise? How’s this?” Richie asks, voice shaking but taking on his signature joking lilt, “‘Guess who has two thumbs, no dick, but still likes it in the ass? This guy!’ Does that read well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike coughs out a laugh, genuine and followed up by a good-natured groan, “That’s weak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, trans-positive comedy is new ground, Mike. You’re telling me you have something better?” Richie laughs, feeling both relieved and smothered with anxiety like some kind of horrible weighted blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing can top your brand, Richie. They’ll definitely know its you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods to himself and whispers, “Me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Mike clarifies, bless him, “you good on your own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs and rubs a hand down his face, “Have been for years, Mikey. Give me the deets, quick, before I think better of it and hang up to pretend that my life hasn’t been completely up-ended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His joke lands a little flat. Mike is there to give him a pity-laugh, definitely weaker now than it had been over the phone. The room is tense with a dash of confusion and Richie feels like he’s had better responses from a bar with a Stand-Up Night. Crickets make noise, at least. He must be stupid rusty for his Coming Out joke to die like that. He’s had all of his jokes written for him since he got big. Obviously he’s deficient. ‘Trashmouth’ doesn’t exactly mean funny. Just...trash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your show is shit.” Beverly speaks first, slowly and carefully like she’s trying to smooth everything over with her own brand of bull-headed, smirking tease. Like that makes this normal - fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie claps his hands and then pulls up a chair, doing his best to avoid making any eye-contact with Eddie. He can’t, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, handle seeing even a sliver of rejection - of disgust - on his face. He’d rather have Bev tear apart his career before he confirms the fear that has taken up residence in the forefront of his brain since the Call. Richie knows that Eddie is looking at him. He can feel those eyes boring into the side of his face and it was like being set on fire. God, it was hot in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something I don’t know, babe.” Richie snarks. “Say it again, with feeling. I live off of negative criticism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev’s mouth quirks with the oddest mix of fondness, humor, and something that suspiciously looks like </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Richie hates it. Ben shifts next to him and catches Richie’s eye. This is painful for Richie. Ben, the round and sweet little boy all grown up into someone that just plain did not have a right to look that way, has passed quickly by confusion, solving the problem, and uncomfortable realization into that same, old goofy smile and crinkled eyes broadcasting pure love. It’s gross and Richie rolls his eyes with a groan when Ben wraps him up in a tight and emotional hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you.” Ben says, honest and it makes Richie’s heart clench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gay.” Richie mumbles into Ben’s muscled shoulder, tone a little watery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill speaks up next, settling a hand on his free shoulder, “You look happy, Richie. Comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spoiler Alert: I’m not. Ben, I love you, but I can feel the heterosexual tension in your body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben lets go, sheepish, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kidding, Benny Boy. Love you, too.” Richie admits, soft, and looks around the room as if to say, ‘I love you all’. He still does his best to avoid locking eyes with Eddie but can’t help the almost hungry way his eyes take in what he can. So compact, so tan, still with those big doe eyes but now featuring muscled arms and chest and what Richie hopes is just </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> most perfect set of abs ever. But then his eyes shift to his hands, hands that Richie worshiped when they were younger - hands that Richie always loved to feel on him - and sees that Eddie is also so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And doesn’t that just kill the small, warm ball of hope that he’d let grow in his chest where the emptiness threatened to swallow him whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie can simply not look anywhere else now but that small, gold band and he knows that everyone is watching him. Everyone knows. They knew back before he became ‘Richie’ that Eddie was his. It was known and expected and natural. Now that Richie remembers them all, remembers </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he feels so incredibly cheated. The fantasy had been for Richie to have that ring sit on his finger. To feel that brand. To feel possessed by the only person he had ever loved. He thought that his single nature and his inability to make significant relationships this whole time was because some part of him remembered Eddie and knew there was nothing, no-one else in this world for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Eddie had found someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s so devastated by this, he feels so broken at that moment, that when the food comes he eats mechanically and drinks more than he should. It is why all his jokes die in his mouth and turn to dust, tasting like bile and the thought ‘he didn’t love you then and he’ll never love you now'. It’s why he hears the conversation around him distantly, vaguely aware that Stan’s absence seems like an omen, and that when Bill tries to send him a few pointed questions about his career and if there is anyone in his life, Richie feels like he’s seconds from bolting. Eddie has been quiet. He hasn’t said a word and Richie idly hopes that he dies when It does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie is so aggressively in his own head that he doesn’t notice Eddie slowly twist the ring off his finger and drop it onto his empty plate. He doesn’t see the meaningful glance Bev gives Bill that Bill gives Ben and then Ben gives Mike and then Mike gives Eddie as if to say, ‘What the fuck are you waiting for? Say something!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have it in him to be more than reactively afraid when the fortune cookies start to move. There’s a brush to the back of his mind, this thought, this feeling that getting together with the Losers is the beginning of the end of his life and that, for once, this feeling of something being out to get him - to kill him dead as a door nail - would be entirely welcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a while since he’s felt guilty and dirty for being who he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was on edge, to say the least. Nothing would be better and more on-brand than him deciding to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the fuck out </span>
  </em>
  <span>but the Bev tells them that after seeing the deadlights she never saw a reality in which they leave or fail that doesn’t end in death. Richie finds this horribly ridiculous and very against the concept of free will. He thinks about bringing up the fact that it is entirely possible that It fashioned those visions to lure them to their deaths, but, Stan’s absence rings hollow between them and in their hearts and Richie can’t shake the feeling that maybe they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what has his life been, anyway? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been happy, weirdly, when he made his way to Derry. It was terrifying and meeting his friends as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span> was even more so but it was even more scary to suddenly know them all again and do nothing. Richie had this hope inflate him, filling up the darkened and empty cackles of his heart, for the chance to see Eddie again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eddie. But that cold, gold band that probably weighed mere ounces just sank a two-ton feeling of defeat that he tried, in vain, to tell himself he’d expected all along. Eddie had never loved him. He’d never been interested and was obviously straight. Richie has a fleeting moment of deep and almost frantic desire that he’d never gone on to be himself, to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie,</span>
  </em>
  <span> if it meant having Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, then he remembers that gnawing feeling within himself as a kid; of hating his body and his voice and the rankling feeling whenever anyone used his deadname. At the time, he’d figured he just hated himself on some huge, cosmic scale. One in which he had only started hating himself marginally </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now, it was more because he had no real friends or family and was spectacularly alone. He did consider Kati to be the closest thing he has to a friend. It was a little weird to think of considering their age difference but she always maintained that just because he’s been around for more rotations around the sun didn’t mean he was old. He would’ve been offended if he hadn’t been so touched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie had the blessing and misfortune of being paired up with Eddie in search for their respective tokens and he’s barely keeping himself in his own skin. Eddie has been spectacularly silent, even with Richie driving them, and that only makes it worse. They’re getting Eddie’s token first, mostly because Richie is trying to draw out the acquisition of his own, and it’s just as they’re pulling up to the last stretch of road that Richie’s phone chimes with the Mario ghost sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to look at it for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sounds so tentative and Richie is desperate to hang on to any conversation that is normal and safe so he shrugs. He can’t think of anyone that would be texting him right now except maybe his manager wondering why he still hasn’t confirmed for his night in Radio City. Definitely a problem but not one he knows the answer to. What if he dies? Something that is increasingly more desirable. He’s having a hard time imagining a world in which he lives and then goes back to being forgotten by his friends and the man he’s loved for decades. He wonders, fleetingly, if all comedians are sad and wish for death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he remembers Robin Williams and makes himself sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s from someone in your phone as ‘Kati-Bug’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a shock and makes him happy as well as a little concerned, so he says, “Open it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your phone doesn’t have a lock screen, isn’t that a security risk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs a little hollowly, “It would be if I had people to secure information from. If someone wants to cop a peek at my Panda Pop score I’m not exactly worried about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scoffs but opens up the text, “It says: Richie-Rich, IDK what crawled up your ass and </span>
  <em>
    <span>deid</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I’m tired of Randal blowing up my phone where are u??” The phone goes off again and Eddie adds, “The next one says: I went by your house and it’s empty???? If you don’t text me in the next 10 min I am going to call you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oof.” Richie winces as he pulls the car off to the side of the road. He can see the collection of debris and foliage that has overgrown the entrance to their old clubhouse. “I should probably respond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t get out of the car right away but does hand over Richie’s phone, “Who’s Kati? Some girl you’re seeing? Seems kind of young.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tries not to read too much into Eddie’s tone because it sounds awfully close to jealous, “Bite your tongue, cur, Kati is an </span>
  <em>
    <span>angel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And for your information, she’s my make-up artist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knows where you live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sometimes she stays over, so what? She’s my friend. Ish. My friend-ish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scoffs but relaxes, “You’re only friends with a younger girl and you aren’t trying to get into her pants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tries to let the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> pass him by and instead gets defensive on Kati’s behalf, “I can be friends with someone and not want to fuck them, Eddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flinches slightly like Richie tried to hit him and tries his best to hide his disappointment at Richie, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his Richie, </span>
  </em>
  <span>using his full name instead of the ‘Eds’ he’s been reluctant to admit he missed. So he tries to back-pedal, “It was a joke, Rich, I’m sorry. I’m sure she’s great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right, she’s great. She puts up with me and, for whatever reason, likes to be around me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie gives him a look, “You don’t think people want your company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been quiet this whole ride and haven’t said more than a ‘hello’ to me since I showed up. I think my assessment is pretty fair.” Richie says, sharper than he means to, so he tries to switch gears, “Not that I blame you. I was a pain in your ass as kids. I get that you’re not exactly pumped to have to deal with that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie is quiet for a moment and suddenly Richie is incredibly thankful that he gets to use Kati’s text as something to do with his hands. He types out a quick, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Everything is cool, Kati-did, I’m alive. I’ll tell Randal to get off your back.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hits send and tries his best to pretend he is still texting to avoid whatever look is on Eddie’s face. He sucks it up and opens up Randal’s contact to text him saying that he’s out of state on a family emergency and that he’ll text him when the weekend is over. Eddie remains in the car and Richie is torn between wanting to be around him no matter how much Eddie hates him and wanting him to just get his token so Richie can cry in the car. Mercifully, Kati texts him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Are you ok? IDGAF about Randal.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles at his phone and types out, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I had a sort-of family emergency’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he almost hits send but then, because he has no-one else to talk about this with, types ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>also may have met up with a friend from childhood who I definitely loved but is painfully straight and married now and i want to lowkey die’.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie.” Eddie says, soft, finally breaking the silence, “You were for-sure a pain in my ass but that doesn’t mean that I don’t like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie winces, hits send, and puts on a blazing, bright smile, “Coulda fooled me, Eddie Spaghetti.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects to hear an exasperated, ‘don’t call me that’, but, instead gets a look that is both fond and sad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes on, “Richie, you really can’t think that I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve managed to avoid coming out to people that matter for </span>
  <em>
    <span>decades</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eddie. For the longest time, only Bev knew. And now, I’ve been forced by a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>clown</span>
  </em>
  <span> to not only risk my life, but even worse, have to come out to people I considered my family. People I love. And out of everyone, you - the person who arguably meant the absolute most to me - had nothing to say to me and you’re wondering why I think that,” Richie laughs, almost hysterically, “you would rather be in this car with anyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks hurt and confused but somehow also sounds demanding when he asks, “You told Bev and didn’t tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is what you got out of my whole spiel?” Richie asks, frustrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We told each other everything.” Eddie says almost petulant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs and rubs a hand over his face, “Obviously, not. I heard you talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>the gays</span>
  </em>
  <span> and AIDS and how dirty they all were. Forgive me if I decided to keep this from you instead of hearing how gross and wrong I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that I was just parroting whatever my mother said to me!” Eddie yells, angry, hands flying up to flap around wildly. “I didn’t have a frame of reference. That bitch had me convinced I was a weak, sick boy. It isn’t an excuse, but, I would like to think that if you came to me that, maybe, I would have been able to work through that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie explodes, then, and feels tears coming on because he’s so frustrated, “It isn’t my responsibility to make myself miserable to give you a reason to not be a dick, Eddie. It was my secret to tell to who I wanted to and it’s a dick thing to say that I should have told you to give you a chance to realize that your mom was full of shit. Now, can you please get the fuck out of the car and get your fucking token so I can get mine and we can kill this clown, please?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry.” Eddie says instead of getting out of the car. “You’re right. It isn’t your responsibility. I just,” Eddie sighs and opens the door to the car, gets out, and holds it open to stare into Richie’s very </span>
  <em>
    <span>soul</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “I wish I could have been that person for you. I’m angry at myself for taking too long to have my own opinions. For being so self-focused and not being able to tell that I was hurting my fucking own best friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Eddie closes the door and walks out to the clubhouse and starts removing branches and large bushes out of the way to get to the door and disappear inside. Richie feels both like shit and a little lighter. Eddie still considers Richie his best friend and that is enough to make him feel a little better. He misses being able to have people he felt close to. And yeah, maybe he hadn’t really been the best at letting people in. Kati is a good example of that. They could have been more close than they were, not for lack of her trying, but something must have ingrained itself in Richie’s head to keep people away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone beeps again and it’s Kati, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry boo, you deserve to be loved whole-heartedly. That’s the plight of being gay, isn’t it? In my experience, being heartbroken seems like a prerequisite. From one queer to another, though? I love you and, for the record, things would suck a whole lot if you weren’t you.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Eddie comes back he looks more solemn, somehow, gripping something in the pocket of his jacket and a shower cap in the other hand that Richie immediately recognizes as Stan’s like a kick to the chest. Time suspends for Richie in this moment, his brain gearing down from too many places at once to focus down on one point: Stan. Richie wishes more than anything that he had told Stan about everything when they were kids. He almost had many times and looking back he isn’t so sure Stan didn’t have some sort of general idea anyway. It isn’t like he ever thought Stan would necessarily stop being his friend. Richie never thought that Stan would react with anything strictly bad but Richie also worries that his plants have feelings and hate him, so, maybe his frame-of-reference is off.</p>
<p>He knew how Stan had felt. Alone, weird, gangly and a loser. But they all were and that’s what made it all ok. It’s the reason that he’d told Bev anything at all. She’d been the girl of the group; someone to help him through those awful weeks once a month. Bev had helped him flatten his chest and spent hours late into the night after the rest of the Losers had gone to bed to help him practice his voice. There is a lot of guilt for Richie to process when it comes to Stan. Richie’d had that false, child-like view of a world that would give him time with the people he loved. He had thought that he’d have time to really find himself and become who he was meant to be before he opened up to the group.</p>
<p>But then they’d all drifted apart. Slowly, over years of school and moving out of town and a giant cosmic clown, they’d forgotten one another until all was left was insecurity, fear, and emptiness. And that’s where Stan had been. Alone. Scared. Trapped. Richie knows a thing or two about being trapped. </p>
<p>Almost as if to punctuate this Eddie opens the car and slides inside. </p>
<p>They’re both still. Richie’s hands are gripping his phone so tight that he can feel it creak and Eddie doesn’t look like he’s even breathing. All Richie can think is that he’s spent so much of his life running away from anything vaguely emotionally charged that being in this car, at this place, with the love of his life sitting within arms reach is just really lighting every nerve on fire. Nausea rolls in his gut suddenly, sitting heavy like his heart is there being eaten away by acid and swimming in bile, and he feels like he’s seconds away from just phasing through his own body. </p>
<p>Eddie breaks the silence first, voice soft and raw, “Stan was right.” Richie has absolutely no context for this and his mind sparks with anxiety at what Eddie could mean. “That first summer, when Ben built this place, and we went down inside the first time,” Eddie takes in a deep breath and then laughs wetly, turning the shower cap over in his hand, “I said something to Stan about how dirt can hold diseases and, you know, Mom had read some article about permafrost and how they’d found old plague diseases in the ice and she just took that and ran with it, you remember how she was.</p>
<p>“Anyway, Stan just stands there at the ladder, everyone else has already gone down and I can hear you and Bev bellow fighting over the last cigarette, and he gets that Very Serious Stan look. Like, he always looked serious and together but he had that one look and if you got it,” Eddie shakes his head and smiles softly, “it was like you couldn’t look away. I got stuck there, frozen, staring him in the eyes and just waiting, like, weirdly calm and ready to receive whatever piece of wisdom or advice he had. </p>
<p>“He said that if I wasn’t careful, I would be sick and small for as long as she wanted, because I was easier to contain that way. He said that out of all of us he was worried the most about himself and me never being able to leave Derry. Like the rest of you had just enough escape velocity to leave orbit and the two of us were destined to crash back down.” Eddie sniffles and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. Richie is sitting, still frozen, and riveted on Eddie’s every word. He is barely breathing, doesn’t want to make any noise to interrupt, the only flash of movement are his eyes as they dart over Eddie’s face. “And that scared me.”</p>
<p>Eddie looks to Richie then, tears in his eyes and a self-loathing set to his mouth; it’s so visceral that Richie makes an abortive move towards Eddie with an outstretched hand and freezes again, stuck, “Then he just went down to the rest of you and I remember standing there, terrified, because I had literally not once considered or imagined a future that didn’t have you in it, Richie.”</p>
<p>That strikes Richie across his proverbial face like a harsh elbow to the nose in a crowded bar. He just blinks across the gearshift to Eddie, who looks both larger-than-life and just as small as Richie remembered him, and swallows around a dry tongue. The first coherent thing that passes across the haze of Richie’s brain is that exact sentiment. He remembered being overwhelmingly, disgustingly in love with Eddie and incapable of imagining a life that didn’t include spending every day with him. Like it was expected. How it was. Inevitable.</p>
<p>“And then, Mom, she,” Eddie turns from Richie again and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, barking out a harsh laugh, “she just like fuckin’ zeroed-in on that, ya know? Like she could smell the insecurity on me. Just,” he makes a stabbing motion at the dashboard with a stiff finger and works his jaw for a second, breathing harshly out his nose to try and calm down the desire to sob, “needled me for months. Always about you. Only you. And suddenly, like she willed it into existence, I started to believe her. That you were pulling away from me, that you’d leave, and then I’d understand that she was the only one I could trust.</p>
<p>“I bought it!” Eddie laughs and runs a hand though his hair, shaky, and it’s then that Richie notices that the cool, golden wedding band was missing and didn’t even leave behind a tan-line. Eddie turns back to Richie again and the disgust that Richie sees on Eddie’s face floors him. He imagined that look being directed at him, not in Eddie’s on contempt of self. “Even with her dead, I still bought it, and then married the two-point-o version of her. Stan was right.” Eddie nods, almost to himself, “I may have left, physically, but I ran right into what I already knew. And made myself miserable doing it.”</p>
<p>Richie feels like he’s going to explode, “What are you trying to say?”</p>
<p>Eddie laughs, a little hysterical, and twists to hold Richie’s complete attention with wide, warm brown eyes, “I saw your face, in the restaurant, when you saw my wedding band. I remember what it felt like when you finally looked at me, looked over all of me, and I felt that,” Eddie gestures towards his gut with his hand almost absently, “I felt that settle in me and it felt good and then you saw the ring and the look on your face made me want to set myself on fire for putting it there.”</p>
<p>“What?” Richie tries to joke, desperation bleeding through more than humor, and breaks eye contact with Eddie to laugh once. “You’re married, so what? So is Bev. So is Bill. People get married.”</p>
<p>Eddie shakes his head violently and and makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand, “I’m trying to tell you that I married the wrong person!”</p>
<p>“Eddie.” Richie says his name and it comes out like a plead, begging, and Richie feels the little ground he had under him disappearing fast when they lock eyes again. He swallows, “You...it’s been a really awful last like forty-eight hours and you’re stressed-”</p>
<p>The man next to him actually growls in frustration, “Stop.”</p>
<p>“-and!” Richie half-yells, “you just remembered that we’re best friends. It’s fresh. Don’t,” Richie’s voice breaks and he clears his throat, “don’t say things you don’t mean.”</p>
<p>Eddie looks positively broken and he chokes out a sob, “Fuck you, Richie. I may have forgotten who you were, your face, your voice, but you don’t know what it felt like to miss you anyway! There was a hole in me,” Eddie makes that gesture towards his gut again, “and it ate at me every time I had a moment to myself. It digested me for decades. I didn’t marry for love, you absolute bastard, I did it because that’s what I thought I had to do!</p>
<p>“And then I saw you in the restaurant, and God, it was like color in my life again. I knew you. I saw you the moment you walked in and I felt my breath catch in my chest and I realized why, for every day since I lost you, that I felt empty and adrift.” Eddie takes a deep breath and exhales, mouth curving into a smile filled with ease and fondness and peace. Richie feels heady at that smile. Eddie continues, voice soft and sweet, “When Mike called me and told me about It, Rich, the first thing my brain remembered was you.”</p>
<p>In that moment, Richie’s phone rings.</p>
<p>Eddie twitches at the sound, “Is that the Jurassic Park 3 phone ring?”</p>
<p>Richie is still frozen, their eyes still locked, and the phone is still ringing when Richie tries, “When we were kids?”</p>
<p>“Are you going to answer your phone?”</p>
<p>“When we were kids? You felt…?” </p>
<p>“It could be Mike.”</p>
<p>Richie frowns to himself, breaking eye contact to answer his phone, holding it up to his ear and turns his back on Richie to look out the driver’s side window, “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You ok? It’s been a minute.” Mike’s tinny voice asks over a crackling line. The reception out here is shit. </p>
<p>Richie nods and holds the phone between his shoulder and ear for a moment to turn the car’s engine over and turn around on the old, dust and gravel road, “Yeah, we’re ok. I still need mine but then we’ll be back.”</p>
<p>“Be safe.” A pause, and then, tentative, “Are you...ok?”</p>
<p>Richie resists the urge to glance at Eddie and nods to himself, “Never better. I gotta go, Mike. Gotta have my hands on ten and two.”</p>
<p>“I’m not a ten?”</p>
<p>Richie bursts out a surprised laugh, “Mike, darling, you are the golden standard of tens.”</p>
<p>“Flatterer.” Mike laughs and the easy sound relaxes Richie’s tense shoulders and aching neck. “He’s trying.”</p>
<p>So, fuck Mike for knowing what’s happening like some sort of shitty, nickel psychic. It’s frustratingly endearing that Mike knows them so well. Richie sighs, “Not now.”</p>
<p>“If you keep running, one day you’ll have nowhere new to go.”</p>
<p>Richie swallows and hums, “Solid fortune cookie impression.”</p>
<p>“I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em.”</p>
<p>“Fuck you.”</p>
<p>“Love you, too. Keep me updated.”</p>
<p>The call ends as he pulls to a stop at a four-way intersection in the center of the forest and an old gas station/mechanic’s shop with the steel skeletons of half a dozen cars sitting in an over-grown parking lot. There isn’t anyone behind him, hasn’t been a single car that’s passed them since they made their way out here, and it’s quiet in the way that a small hometown is. There’s the wind through the bare trees and the dying leaves at their roots. There are a few birds here and there but the sound is much more the echo of empty space. The hollow ring between the bark of trees plays back the rumble of the car as it idles.</p>
<p>Richie’s hands are tight and hard against the wheel and he’s trying really hard to fight the urge to disappear, “When you said you married the wrong person...did you mean that you wished you’d never married at all?”</p>
<p>“Before I remembered you, yeah, I wished I’d never married at all.” Eddie replies, soft.</p>
<p>The taller man gulps, “And when you remembered me?”</p>
<p>Eddie sighs like he’s put upon but his smile belays it, “Before, when we were kids, and I found out for the first time that marrying someone meant being with them for the rest of your life...I thought of you.”</p>
<p>Richie gets a little hung up on how Eddie says, ‘Before’.</p>
<p>“I’m not a woman.” Richie grouses out through clenched teeth and pulls away from the stop sign, accelerating through dusty back roads; his totem was at home and he was hoping that the spare key was still under Mom’s garden gnome.</p>
<p>This is a problem that Richie knew he would have to deal with sooner or later. Though, it hadn’t really occurred to him that this would come on the heels of what seems to be some sort of half-baked confession of sorts by Eddie. Richie feels like he’s being torn in multiple directions at once. He has to remind himself that Eddie had married a woman. That his confession is predicated on who they had been as kids, not as he was now. Richie had wanted Eddie when they were younger - that’s fact - but, something he had never wanted was for Eddie to see him the way you see someone you love in the little moments: early morning showers, brushing teeth, changing clothes, sleeping curled in on one-another. </p>
<p>Richie hadn’t even wanted to see himself naked, let alone let someone else. </p>
<p>“I didn’t...I know that, Richie.”</p>
<p>The wind outside the car whips and thrashes against the side, sounding like great sighing gusts and groans. Sky darkens into something murky and thick, flashing with bursts of light and chased by rolling thunder. The rain starts up slow and soft, small droplets almost mist-like, and patters against the rental car’s windshield. The world is just as gray as Richie feels and he’s teetering on the line between being bone-achingly distraught and irrationally, directionless angry. He’s leaning towards angry. He’s been alone and sad long enough. Maybe he deserves to be angry now. Who is Eddie, anyway? Richie loves him - this is unfortunate. </p>
<p>But Richie has always been the king of denial so it’s nothing to push down and repress these feelings all over again.</p>
<p>Richie tries to not sound bitter, “You may have married the wrong person but the one you wanted never existed.”</p>
<p>“You’re saying you aren’t anything like you were when we were kids?” Eddie scoffs.</p>
<p>Richie’s eyes cut to the side to glare at Eddie so quickly they flash, “Take a good, long look, Eddie. Spot the differences.”</p>
<p>“God, you are so fucking dense!” Eddie yells, punctuating each word with a punch to his own knee. “I married the wrong person because I’m fucking gay!”</p>
<p>The car suddenly drops several miles-per-hour as Richie’s brain shuts down, subsequently relaxing his lead-foot. The rain is coming down hard now. Striking against the car in great torrents, sounding so similar to hail. The downpour haze makes the cab seem more intimate, like it’s suspended in time and space. Eddie’s breathing is coming out in angry huffs through his nose, pointedly looking out the windshield while he shakes in the wake of his own confession. </p>
<p>Richie tries not to crash them and gains control of himself and the car, “Um, I...how...when did you figure this out?”</p>
<p>His voice sounds cavalier to his ears and for that he’s thankful because he feels like he’s being flayed alive, emotionally speaking, and he’s not sure what emotion to settle on. So, Eddie’s gay. That’s...that is definitely something. Hope fills his chest again like it had back in the restaurant when he’d first seen Eddie again. And he hates himself for it. There’s no discernible reason why that automatically means he has a chance with Eddie. Richie’s heard what people have to say about being trans and being a real gay man. </p>
<p>“Do you mean my ‘aha’ moment? When it made sense?” Eddie asks.</p>
<p>“Is that not how it worked for you?”</p>
<p>Eddie pauses for a beat, then, “Not exactly.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“It means,” Eddie sighs, “that I knew something was different but I didn’t know what.”</p>
<p>Richie casts a look towards Eddie for a moment, speculative, and then focuses back to the road as they reach Derry city limits. He can tell that Eddie is uncomfortable and bearing his soul so Richie cuts him some slack, “That’s ok. It took me a long time to realize I was gay.”</p>
<p>“You’re gay?” Eddie asks and Richie tries not to read into the tone too much because it sounds awfully hopeful.</p>
<p>Richie laughs, “My joke at the restaurant did say that I like it up the ass.”</p>
<p>“Girls can peg.”</p>
<p>That throws Richie so hard he is worried for a moment that he’ll kill them both in this deathtrap of a car. His brain is having trouble processing that sentence as one that actually came out of Eddie’s mouth. </p>
<p>“Well, shit, you’re right.” They pull up the Tozier’s driveway and Richie throws the car into park. “Girl power!”</p>
<p>Eddie laughs and doesn’t move to leave the car, “Your token is here?”</p>
<p>Richie looks up into the darkened house of his childhood. His mother is likely at work and he feels a flash of guilt for not even telling her he was in town. Not the time, is what he’d decided. Maybe if he survives this. </p>
<p>“It’s in my room. Are you ready for some nostalgia?”</p>
<p>Eddie gives him a look Richie can’t place, “You want me to come inside?”</p>
<p>“Rich joke area aside: yes. Don’t you want a blast from the past?” </p>
<p>Eddie’s blush at the innuendo sparks something in Richie that he hasn’t felt in a long time outside of occasional interest in Terry Crews every time he’s seen him in an Old Spice commercial. While that had been more in the realm of appreciation for a body and sense of humor for someone unattainable, Eddie was here, real, and the love of his life. He felt flush with want and desire and the overwhelming need to bring that rich blush to the apples of Eddie’s cheeks again, stronger, and see it brush across his nose and his ears to bring out the freckles Richie counted himself. </p>
<p>The shorter man hasn’t taken a breath and Richie tries, and fails, to not notice Eddie’s dilated eyes when he says, “As long as I’m with you.”</p>
<p>“Eds.” Richie whispers, reverent, and yearning so hard he can’t imagine loving anything more.</p>
<p>Eddie looks down, slowly, tracking down Richie’s body, and his lazer-gaze focuses on Richie’s hands. He licks his lips and tries in vain to not let the molten-hot rush of ‘I pleased’ and ‘please him again’ on a repeat like a locked grove. Richie reaches out finally, convinced that this is it, and doesn’t want to pass away without feeling the warmth of a blush he invoked against the soft, tan cheek of the only person Richie had ever loved; and likely, ever will. And, God, his skin is just as smooth and weathered as Richie had ever envisioned. Eddie’s silken cheek feels like the comfortable, worn slide of a well-loved shirt. </p>
<p>“Rich.” Eddie breathes and it ghosts across Richie’s nose like a kiss. “Do you understand?”</p>
<p>And Eddie just looks so wrecked. His eyes are bright and brimming with tears of pure want and fervor. His arm snakes forward like a shot to wrap around Richie’s wrist, holding him steady to Eddie’s cheek, and nuzzles into his palm like it is the only thing in this world that provides him comfort and love. The moment Eddie’s lips press to Richie’s palm, ever-so delicately and softer than a sigh, Richie feels like his whole body has been ignited. Eddie’s lips pressed across his faint and fluttering pulse. The feeling of soft and weathered lips, that he’d imagined time and time again, fluttering ever-so-slightly with nerves and bubbling emotion sends shocks to Richie’s heart with each twitch of Eddie’s lips.</p>
<p>Richie catches Eddie’s eyes and feels his fingertips curve in an almost to-tight grip around the line of Eddie’s jaw; he doesn’t disguise the firm demand of his voice, “Say it.”</p>
<p>Eddie’s body quakes forward, following Richie’s hand like a heat-sink, and flutters his eyes closed against the command. His chin tips up and he leans into Richie’s space like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered, “Do you remember that night in September in eighth-grade?”</p>
<p>“What?” Richie replies, so focused on Eddie’s heavy eyes and the full set of his lips.</p>
<p>The shorter man laughs, breath huffing out across Richie’s palm like a brand, “You had just gotten out of band practice. Lugging that giant trombone around. You came to my house that evening, remember? Carried that thing on your back like it was no problem, smirking to me through my window, joking about being strong enough to pin me to the wall and that…” Eddie sucks in a breath, eyes opening slowly like he doesn’t want to wake up, “just flushed me with this pulse of want. Like that would be right. As it should be. That my place was hiked up against the wall with you in-between my legs and my arms around your neck.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.” Richie whines, thumb slipping from its firm stroke across his cheekbone to skate over Eddie’s plump lip.</p>
<p>“Can I?” Eddie asks, almost to himself, and the small, wet tip of his tongue peeks out to ghost over the rough pad of Richie’s thumb. The smaller man shivers at the taste and hums, “I dreamed about that, you know? I felt so guilty, like I would corrupt you, and all I wanted was to touch constantly. I goaded you just to get you to touch me. I lived for that. I went to sleep and woke up wanting that.</p>
<p>“And when you’d sneak in and sleep over?” Eddie tsks, pressing another impossibly light kiss into Richie’s palm, “I went to sleep hoping that when I woke up that you’d be holding me like you did every morning.”</p>
<p>Richie sucks in a breath, “That’s why.”</p>
<p>“What?” Eddie asks, an impossibly adorable crease to his brow.</p>
<p>“Every time I came to you in the middle of the night it was because it was the perfect excuse.” </p>
<p>Eddie blinks up at him and looks dazed, “What?”</p>
<p>“I was so afraid of you touching me,” Richie gulps, “but I couldn’t stop touching you. It was like that’s all my hands were supposed to do.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>Richie blinks, eyes focused on his thumb as it dips into the corner of Eddie’s mouth. He watches, enraptured, as Eddie suckles at it lightly, “My hands?”</p>
<p>“Your token.” Eddie says after letting Richie’s thumb go with a pop. He sounds nervous, swallowing, and his hand strays back to his jacket pocket. “I want to see your token.”</p>
<p>Richie feels nervous again. His mind is hazy with the feeling of Eddie’s tongue swirling around his thumb. Drunk on these half-confessions and sexual tension. Being vulnerable with Eddie like this, with a hand secured to Eddie’s face and the burning implication of a kiss, is one thing. Something he struggles with on a daily basis is fear of closeness and physically bearing yourself to someone. But the token takes that a step further. It says something that Richie had only barely been able to admit to Bev one night soaking a load of underwear in Richie’s basement with a pack of cigarettes and an old, dusty handle of vodka between them. Unsweetened, room-temperature tea is not a suitable chaser. </p>
<p>
  <i>“Do you think he knows?” Richie asks, nervous, the tremor of his hands shaking the dim light of the cherry of his cigarette.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Bev pours out two more shots and gives Richie a sympathetic look that is simultaneously fondly annoyed, “No-one really knows. I only do because you said something. Don’t give me that look. Yeah, we can all see something there. Anyone would have to, babe. But that doesn’t mean anything. What’s between you two is yours and if that...you know, evolves, it would make sense but it isn’t a given.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“But-”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“It isn’t a given for others.” Bev amends, “Look, in your head, these are absolutes. These are facts. You know that he’s it for you. But you don’t broadcast your thoughts into people’s heads. No-one can read minds. Things like this, feelings, become real when you say them out-loud. Anything else is speculation. If he did ever find out, babe, he’d still need to hear it from you to truly know. And someday, when you say it, you’re going to be so pissed you let yourself be so worried about it.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  So, Richie gulps, nods, and leads Eddie inside.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, I deliberated with this chapter for a long time and idk if anyone reads these or not but I originally had this pegged as a slow-burn and it just didn't write itself that way. quarantine has been an experience and being stuck, you'd think, would make writing easier but what it does is make me pour over everything too long. so here it is. it's still a multi-chap and still has a lot of emotional shit and fluff ahead. </p>
<p>i just feel like Eddie is often pigeon-holed into this really uptight emotionally repressed guy and while, yeah, i also feel like maybe remembering the losers and derry and growing up and gaining is fire back that he wouldn't want to let that go again.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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